The Assassin Tribute
by trudirewolf
Summary: Smoke Wilson is an average teenager living in District 9. That is, until he is called upon for the 37th Hunger Games. He must use the skills he's adapted from a popular video game to survive and win this year's Games. Criticism Wanted.
1. Chapter 1

Hunger Games Fan-fiction

My name is Smoke Wilson. Weird name, I know. I'm sixteen years old, dirty blond hair, gray eyes, about 5'10, and I live in District 9. Grain. We don't have the easiest life here, but it's not the worst either. We take the bull crap the Capitol feeds us and pretend to believe it. We don't try anything stupid. So, basically, we live, reproduce, and die. Nothing special. If we're lucky, we find someone to spend our lives with or get into a nice hobby to occupy us between harvests.

I live in a hay farming neighborhood. My family is middle class in the district. We work eight hours a day during harvest. My particular job is usually loading the hay onto the trains headed to District 10 to feed the cattle. We have a sort of city square near the middle, where the school, city hall, and most of the stores are located. To the south, are wast wheat fields. To the North, where my family resides, are about only 160 acres of hay fields.

This year, the 37th Hunger Games will take place. Last year, our very own Aspen Waters won the 36th Games at fifteen years old, the youngest to win so far. She goes to my school, only a grade up from me. Of course, she's very famous around the school. She killed five people in the arena. She has black hair, bright green eyes, is about 5'7, and the richest person in the whole district ever since she won. I can't count how many times my mother has said "You should ask her out!" or "You should sit with her at lunch and ask her to tell you stories that the camera didn't catch!". That's not happening. When it comes to dating, in our school, we more or less just stick to our own year. I haven't worried to much about it, yet. I just try to keep my grades up and not piss off the Peacekeepers.

"Hey, Smoke! Did you beat it yet?" Hugo asks, walking up to me in the hall.  
"Yeah, of course." I reply.  
"What are you guys talking about?" Adam asks, following behind Hugo.  
"Assassin's Creed."  
"Oh, yeah. I haven't played in a while." he says. We were exploring the old warehouse on the edge of town that used to be for wheat storage when we found some machines that hooked to a television and allowed you to control a character. When we got them working, we found that several titles of "Assassin's Creed" had been loaded onto them. We have spent the last several weeks trying to beat them. When the power is down, however, we do something completely different. We use our break time to go out in the barn and work on our project, to recreate the notorious Hidden Blades from the games. So far, we have gotten the setup, but we can't figure out a mechanism to extend and retract the blades.

My friends begin to go on about their favorite aspects of the game, while I glance around the hall. My eyes settle for just a moment on our school's pride and joy, Aspen. She looks up we lock eyes for a split second. I immediately look down.  
"Whoa, look at this!" Hugo says.  
"What?" I ask.  
"Looks like someone-"  
"If you finish that sentence, I swear, I will replace every slip in the reaping with your name!" I yell, causing a few by passers to stop and stare for a second,"I mean, no, I don't have a crush on Aspen Waters." I say, reddening slightly.  
"Lighten up. At least you didn't witness half of your family publicly hanged." Adam smirked.  
"Right, I'm not Ezio."I replied,"Well, I'll see you tomorrow, hopefully."  
"May the odds be ever in your favor!" Adam yells, running off. 


	2. Chapter 2

Hunger Games Fan Fiction chapter 2

"Alright, air assassination, off the hay bale, cut the dummy's spine." Adam says, propping up the hay dummy so that it stands. I stand atop an eight foot high hay bale, with our newest hidden blades strapped to my wrists. So far, all we have is permanently extended blades, since we haven't figured out how to get them to extend and retract. The human analogue is about seven feet away from the bale. I judge my distance, then jump. I try my best to model the technique from the game, which isn't too hard. I strike the dummy in the back of the neck, right where the spine would be, but instead of using it to slow my descent and land on my feet, I slip and land on top of it, sliding my face right into the loose dirt.

"Better than last time." Hugo says, helping me up.  
"My turn!" Adam says. I remove the blades from my wrists and hand them over. He ascends the hay mountain and prepares himself for the jump. Though, he falls over the edge as soon as he straightens his legs. He was distracted. Distracted, by the Capitol hovercraft flying over us.  
"Better hide those blades. This place is gonna be crawling with peacekeepers soon and we don't want them to know we are developing weapons." Hugo says. Adam nods and rushed in the barn to hide the blades.  
"We better get going." I say,"We don't want a repeat of two years ago."  
"We agreed not to speak of that." Hugo whispers.  
"Speak of what?" Adam asks, appearing behind us.  
"Nothing! Let's go get ready." I reply quickly.

We start walking back to the residential area.  
"Hey, Smoke, how many times is your name in this year?" Hugo asks.  
"Well let's see, I'm fifteen, and I'm taking four tesserae. So that's twelve times. What about you guys?" I ask.  
"I'm fourteen with no tesserae, since my older brother takes it all, so three." Adam states.  
"I'm fifteen, I'm taking tesserae for my mother, father, little brother, and my baby twin sisters, and myself. God, that's twenty-eight. Just wait till I'm a bit older, then what?" Hugo chuckles.  
"Adam, you've got it easy, you don't have to worry at all. I mean three?"I say.  
"When my brother turns nineteen, I'll have forty-two. Won't be so relaxed then, will I?" He counters.  
"Well, for now at least." I say. We split up and head our separate ways, back to our homes. Mine is a simple two bedroom abode, with a bathtub and toilet in the back and a wood furnace in the kitchen. A small living room separates the kitchen and bedrooms, with a old, twenty inch television, something I smuggled eighty pounds of wheat for, sitting on a chest containing God-knows-what.

My mother holds my little brother on the couch as he bawls his eyes out, once again convinced that my name is going to be drawn and that I am going to die. Of course, he doesn't understand how low the odds of that are. My mother nods toward my sibling and mine's room. When I get in there I see what she has laid out for me. A pair of black slacks and a white button down shirt with a few tiny rips here and there.  
"That was what I wore on my last reaping." My dad says, leaning in the doorway," It may be a bit big for ya, but I was kind of small, so. If it doesn't fit, let Mom know. She may be able to sew it a bit tighter." And with that, he is gone. Off to tend to the fields. He has never watched the Games live. No matter how much they threaten him, we won't watch live. He sometimes goes back and watches reruns of famous scenes, but not during mandatory viewing. Not even the Reaping. Not even my Reapings.

I bathe myself as best I can and neaten up my hair. The clothes do fit without need of sewing. I head out with my family and split off into the line for potential tributes. I get to the front of the line and get my finger pricked. I join the Hugo in the fifteen year old section.  
"Can't wait to see Hellion's getup this year." he whispers whispers in my ear.  
"I heard she toned it down. You know, only four pounds of make up instead of five." I reply, receiving a light chuckle on his end. Christa Hellion appears on stage. Aside from the make up, she is fairly normal looking for a Capitol citizen. No extreme accent, no overly fancy outfits. She did, however, have a habit of wearing district themed clothes. Last year she wore a denim dress with a straw hat, since she chose District 11. This year is obviously 12, since she has a coal miner's hat, black powder on her face to symbolize soot, and a plain navy blue dress with a black pickax shape on it.

"Welcome, District 9, to the annual selection for the Hunger Games! I'm Christa Hellion, and I will be drawing from the bowls to my left and my right to decide which brave soul will travel to the Capitol and fight for the honor of their district!" she yells. She does a good job of hiding it, but I can always sense a twinge of regret in her slightly coarse voice."I will choose the young lady first, as always." she proceeds to one of the bowls and draws out a small slip of paper.  
"Willow Docher?" she reads out. A girl of about eighteen slowly makes her way through the crowd to the front, a look of shock on her face. This year would have been her last reaping. "Do we have any volunteers who would like to take Willow's place? No? On to the young gentleman, then." she walks over to the bowl and draw out a paper. She walks out to the microphone and reads it.

"Smoke Wilson?" 


End file.
